


like the holding of hands, like the breaking of glass

by elsinorerose, shaypotter



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Graphic depiction of torture, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Suicidal Ideation, threatened rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23465734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsinorerose/pseuds/elsinorerose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaypotter/pseuds/shaypotter
Summary: You are worth it, you are worth all of it, to have known you, to have danced with you.Caleb and Jester survive.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 44
Kudos: 222





	like the holding of hands, like the breaking of glass

Jester wakes up bound to a chair. 

Someone is shouting at her. No, she realizes after a groggy moment — not shouting, just calling to her, but it sounds so  _ loud, _ and she wants to tell whoever it is to shut up and let her go back to sleep — and that’s when she realizes that she’s not in bed, she’s sitting, held upright by something tight around her wrists and arms while her head lolls forward. 

She tries to lift her head up. It doesn’t move. She takes a deep breath and tries again. 

"...hear me? Jester? Can you hear me? Please, Jester, you need to let me know if you can hear me, I need to know you are all right — "

"Wassit?" she mumbles, her head achy. It's like swimming deep underwater, seeing the light drifting through the surf, just barely out of reach.  _ "Mhm." _

She hears a sigh of relief.  _ "Dank den göttern," _ whispers Caleb from several feet away. Then, louder: "Can you lift your head and look at me,  _ liebste?" _

Jester moans. "Don't wanna," she whines, that persistent ache rolling through her head, rattling around like a ball bearing bouncing down a set of stairs. "Shit." She finally lifts her head, trying to blink her heavy eyes open. "Caleb?"

He’s in another chair, far enough away that they wouldn’t be able to reach out and touch each other even if their wrists and elbows weren’t bound to the armrests. Shackled, actually: the metal cuffs are digging cruelly into Caleb’s arms, and she can feel without looking that hers are the same.

The shackles aren’t what alarms her. What sends terror shooting through her chest is the sight of the rest of Caleb’s body, naked and pale and covered with half-healed wounds and bruises. Dried blood that no one has bothered to clean off is crusted all over his limbs and torso, and a great gash of it mars his brow, sticking his hair to his forehead. There is a dark, swollen bruise around one of his eyes, and his lips are dry and ragged, as if he hasn’t had a drop to drink in days.

He’s staring back at her, and there’s fear in his eyes that even he can’t hide.

She shudders hard, her heart pounding with fear. "Caleb? Fuck,  _ Caleb, _ what happened? Where —" Jester strains against her bonds, hissing as pain shoots through her. "What is going on?" Her voice is high and reedy, even to her own ears.

"Don’t struggle," Caleb tells her hollowly. "Try not to make too much noise — I don’t know how much time we — " 

There’s a screech of rusted hinges behind them, and Caleb freezes. He was already unnaturally pale, but he goes even whiter now, and his eyes are wider than Jester has ever seen them. 

"Good, we are awake," says a Zemnian voice. It’s vaguely familiar, but she can’t place it. 

Jester swallows, trying to peer into the darkness to see the figure coming through. The accent makes her shudder, so similar to Caleb's but so  _ different, _ full of cruelty. "Who are you?" she whispers, her voice weak. 

"No one of consequence," replies the voice. It’s male, but deeper than Caleb’s, and the accent is thicker. "Well, not to the rest of the world. To  _ you, _ I am the only thing that matters." 

The speaker walks around so that Jester can see him. He’s in his mid thirties, tall, with black hair and strong muscles bulging in his arms. His hands are clasped behind his back as he strolls in front of the chairs. 

"Wulf," says Caleb in a low, warning voice. "She does not need to be here. I will give you what you want." 

Wulf arches a dark eyebrow. "But you have  _ not _ been giving us what we want. How am I to trust your word, Bren, without some insurance?" 

He moves so quickly that Jester doesn’t realize he has struck her in the face until her ears are already ringing.

She recoils from the hit, the metal chains digging into her skin, a pained gasp slipping from her. Jester can't even brace herself, or grab onto something to feel grounded, her head spinning.  _ Wulf, _ she thinks, searching for the name and remembering the dark figure in the asylum, Caleb's voice greeting his old friend.

"Don’t  _ touch her!" _ shouts Caleb, his voice raw and breaking. 

Wulf steps back. Already his hands are clasped behind his back again, the picture of decorum. "I have not been sent here just to extract information, Bren," he says, polite and smooth, as if they’re discussing the weather. "I have been instructed to  _ play _ with you." 

He tilts his gaze towards Jester. "Do you know what that means, Fräulein Lavorre?"

Jester bares her teeth at Wulf. "You're not really my type," she manages. It's hard to put on a brave face with her brain ringing like it is, but she hates the sound of Caleb's fear, hates that  _ name _ that isn't his being thrown around.

Wulf laughs, a cold laugh without a smile. "I could rape you, you know." He glances at Caleb. "Would you like to watch that?" 

The tendons in Caleb’s neck and forearms are stretched taut from the strain as he holds himself still, as he refuses to speak. 

"Hmm...no," Wulf sighs, turning back to Jester. "Not a Tiefling half-breed, that would be a debasement. Her kind is only good for whetting blades."

She turns her gaze to Caleb, keeping her eyes locked on his pale, trembling face.  _ It's okay, _ Jester tries to say without words.  _ It's okay, I'm not afraid. _

It's a fucking  _ lie. _ Jester is horrified. She's seen Caleb's arms, seen the way he sometimes will jump at nothing but the softest thud behind him. Wulf will tear her apart piece by piece in front of Caleb's very eyes, and death will be the closest thing she gets to release, unless her friends manage a miracle. 

Jester swallows hard, trying desperately to keep her eyes from filling with tears.

"Sharpen your blades on  _ me," _ says Caleb through gritted teeth. His voice is surprisingly controlled. "You have my spellbook already. I will teach you dunamancy, I will teach you here and now if you like. What would you like to know? You can — " 

His words are cut off as Wulf produces something from behind his back. 

"Do you remember this?" he asks softly, twisting the short iron poker between his thumb and fingers. 

Caleb stares wildly and helplessly at Jester. "I’m sorry," he says hoarsely. "I am so sorry, Jester — " 

Wulf blows on the end of the poker, and it flares red-orange, glowing with heat. "Which part of his body, Fräulein?"

Jester grits her teeth, blinking back the burning in her eyes. "I thought you were going to play with me?" she forces out, trying to regain Wulf's full attention. She can't think about Caleb's already broken and bruised body suffering more under Wulf's hand, she has to do  _ something _ about it, has to protect him.

"Oh, we will take turns," replies Wulf easily. "It is your turn to call. His fine hands, perhaps? Or someplace crueler — his eyes? His cock? You must choose  _ something, _ or I will shove this down his throat, and that would end the game too soon."

"Jester," Caleb is murmuring. "Jester. It’s all right. Do what he says, it is all right."

She inhales sharply, shaking her head so hard it rings. Jester can't  _ choose _ where Caleb is going to get harmed, can't be the reason he feels  _ pain. _ Her stomach rolls and she wonders if she's going to be sick. 

All she can do is stare at Caleb, refusing to look toward Wulf. "His — his leg," she whispers, just holding Caleb's gaze. 

"Good girl," soothes Wulf, and then he doesn’t just set the iron against Caleb’s skin — he plunges it deep into his flesh. 

Caleb  _ screams. _ His head slams back against the metal headrest of his chair, hard enough that the sound echoes through the chamber, and he kicks madly against the pain, but his ankles are shackled as well and there’s no escaping it. 

Wulf doesn’t flinch. He drives the red-hot poker further and further into Caleb’s shin, until the bright tip pierces out the other side, sizzling with boiled blood.

Jester's screaming too, straining against the chains so hard she can feel them slicing into her skin, but it doesn't fucking  _ matter, _ Caleb is being harmed, Caleb is in  _ pain — _

_ "Enough," _ she shouts, rocking against the shackles, trying to drag his attention back to her. "Please, Wulf,  _ stop." _

He turns to glare at her, his eyes like steel. "You may address me as Eodwulf, or Vollstrecker. And it is  _ your turn." _

The poker slides back out of Caleb’s leg, drawing another scream from his throat. 

_ "Geh zur hölle," _ Caleb hisses.  _ "Ich werde dich auseinander reißen, ich werde dich beenden, wenn du sie berührst — " _

"Your call, Bren." Wulf lets the poker hover over Jester’s skin, tracing her body from her neck down towards her feet. 

"Her back," says Caleb hoarsely, and his eyes are full of tears. 

Wulf’s eyes narrow. "Clever," he says softly, and then he shoves Jester forward and presses — just presses — the chunk of fire to the skin of Jester’s upper back.

Jester’s been burned before, is the thing. She’s been hit by fire spells, has felt the intense pain of flames licking up her arms, but she’s never had  _ hot iron _ pressed to her skin. A scream slips out of her but she manages to cut the sound short, her breathing coming quicker. 

Her mind flashes to the last time she was tied up like this, on a dirty floor in Lorenzo’s torture chamber, her friends bound by her side,  _ suffering. _ Tears roll down her cheeks.

"Hold on," Caleb is pleading with her, straining towards her against his bonds even though it’s useless. "Hold on, Jester, hold on, it will be over soon. Hold on,  _ liebste, _ please." 

At some point, an eternity later, the iron lifts from her skin, and Wulf steps back in front of her, smiling. "Had to stay on the surface this time. We don’t want to damage those pretty lungs, otherwise you couldn’t scream."

Jester gulps in air, desperately trying to ignore the stinging of her seared back. The skin is blistering and when she sits back to release the strain on her wrists from the bindings, that burned spot  _ screams _ with pain. "Pretty lungs? What a  _ stupid _ fucking comment," she hisses, her chest heaving. "Your torture talk  _ sucks." _

She forces herself not to look at Caleb.

_ "His _ is interesting, though," remarks Wulf, strolling back over to Caleb. "Do you know what  _ liebste _ means in Zemnian?" He balances the poker, still blazing hot, and levels it at Caleb’s throat.

Jester grits her teeth, lifting her gaze to Wulf's face. She  _ hates _ his fucking face, hates it more than any face she's  _ ever _ hated. Jester has never wanted so badly to claw at someone's skin with her bare nails, to pull him apart piece by piece. 

"Why don't you — " Her breathing stutters. "I have a whole other side of my back. Come back over here,  _ Wulf." _

"It means," he continues, ignoring her words,  _ "dearest. _ Most beloved." He cocks his head at Caleb, then at Jester. "Are you his  _ most beloved? _ Has Bren Aldric Ermendrud really fallen for a spiteful blue devil like you?" 

"You are the only devil in this room," Caleb spits.

Her eyes widen against her will. She can't control her reactions, can't manage to keep a straight face like Caleb would've. She's gone pale, she can feel color draining from her cheeks as her body trembles.  _ Most beloved. Are you his most beloved? _

She wishes they weren't here. She wishes she was still knocked out. Above all, she wishes Caleb was somewhere safe with her, somewhere hidden where nobody could ever find them again. 

She stays silent, just glares back at Wulf. He grins back like a rabid beast. 

"What is the point of this?" rasps Caleb. "Eodwulf, what is the  _ point? _ Tell me now whether there is any use in throwing you more information — not that you — " He breaks off for a moment, shuddering with pain. "Not — that you do not know everything already," he pants again at last. 

"The point is to break you, Bren," Wulf sighs. "Surely you did not need me to tell you that." 

Jester sees Caleb’s jaw set tight. "It helps to know what I have to bargain with," he murmurs, his gaze fixed on Jester.

She understands in that moment the true point of her being here. It wasn't that she was the easiest member of the Mighty Nein to be grabbed — she was  _ chosen. _ Wulf's cruel words float through her mind.  _ Most beloved. _ Jester is meant to be the stone that breaks Caleb, the  _ thing _ he watches disintegrate before his eyes until he... 

Jester strains against her shackles. "Don't  _ ignore me. _ You've got huge fucking ears, Wulf, I know you can hear me." Maybe she can upset him,  _ annoy _ Wulf until he ends this, removes the bargaining chip from the table. Is it possible to drive a professional torturer to the edge of snapping?

Wulf flicks his wrist, and the poker in his hand transforms into a cleaver. 

For a moment, Caleb just stares. Then he lurches forward and vomits onto the floor between his feet. 

"Your turn, dearest Fräulein," says Wulf to Jester. "What shall he lose? Please don’t be boring and say  _ a finger, _ surely we can be more creative than that." 

Caleb lifts his head and stares at Jester. Broken, humiliated, he stares at her and does not look away.

Jester holds Caleb's gaze, tears streaming down her face. There's no stopping it, no controlling the pain of this moment because she's  _ helpless _ here. She just cries, her shoulders shaking, her eyes begging Caleb for...something. Anything. 

"Me," she insists to Wulf, rattling the chains around her wrists to try and draw his eye. "You  _ fuck, _ get over  _ here." _

Too sick to speak, Caleb just shakes his head at her. But her words have the desired effect: Wulf moves in her direction instead, and says over his shoulder to Caleb, "Choose wisely. A nipple? An ear? We could move straight to the limbs, of course, if you want." 

Caleb doesn’t take his eyes from Jester’s. "Tail," he whispers, white-lipped. Then, soundless, he mouths,  _ I’m sorry. _

Jester starts to shiver, her bare skin breaking out in goosebumps. She asked for this, she  _ wants _ to draw the pain away from Caleb, can't stomach watching him get harmed at her word...but the thought of having her tail amputated... 

"Fuck  _ you," _ she spits, glaring into Wulf's eyes as her body shakes even more. "You're fucking  _ nothing." _

Would Mama be proud of her for this, for not backing down in the face of hopelessness? Would she be disappointed in Jester for ending up here, death imminent? 

Jester gives Caleb a weak, trembling smile. No, she won't regret this. Not a minute of this. 

It hurts less than she expected, the actual blow that severs eight inches or so from her tail. It’s the cauterization a moment later, as the flat of the cleaver glows hot and Wulf presses it to the bleeding stump, that makes her nearly black out from pain. It’s the sight of the end of her tail lying dead on the floor that makes her stomach churn and suddenly empty itself over the edge of her armrest. 

Wulf looks pleased. "What a wonderful start. Things are shaping up to be so — " 

_ "Eodwulf." _ Caleb’s voice cuts in like jagged glass. 

Their tormentor gives him a look. 

Caleb’s face is carefully blank, a mask of control. His voice, when he speaks next, is clipped and even. "I will not scream again until you let her go," he murmurs. "I will not so much as flinch. Your  _ play _ will be nothing. Kill her or kill me — I will not react."

Jester is too woozy to answer, the pain unimaginable — and Jester has a  _ great _ imagination. She can't look down — if she sees her tail, useless and bleeding on the floor she's going to be sick again. 

_ Kill me, _ Jester wants to demand, wishing she had the strength to force Wulf's gaze back to her, but she's never felt anything like this in her life. She drops her head back against the chair, staring at Caleb's empty expression.  _ Look at me, _ she thinks, her body exhausted.  _ Caleb. Let me see you. _

He doesn’t look at her. And Wulf doesn’t kill her. He does other things to her instead, terrible things, things that become lost in a cloud of pain both physical and mental, until she loses track of what’s happening and just...drifts. 

Caleb keeps his word. He faces straight ahead, eyes squeezed shut, and says nothing. Does nothing, except to ball his hands into fists so tight they’re practically bloodless. He trembles, and silent tears course down his face, but no sound comes from his lips, and he does not flinch. 

He says only one thing to Jester before this all begins: "I have always loved you."

Years have to have passed, surely, by the time Jester realizes she is emerging on the other side of this nightmare. The way the pain sharpens and refocuses is almost welcome after the terrifying, drug-like stupor of the actual torture. 

Wulf has flung what is currently a hook down onto the floor, as if in disgust. "You are frustrating," he growls to Caleb. "I don’t suppose you will be more amenable if we make  _ your _ body our canvas." 

Silence. 

"I will return," Wulf snaps, and in a few strides he exits the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

Jester's breathing is shallow and labored. She would've thought that the benefit of being burned, sliced and stabbed everywhere would mean it would turn into just one  _ huge _ pain, numbing everything until it's just her whole body, but she was wrong. The individual ache and sting of each part is distinctly standing out to her, causing her body to shut down. 

"Caleb," she whispers, her voice raspy from screaming. She can't manage anything above this broken, useless whisper. "Caleb." 

He opens his eyes and looks at her. He looks like his heart has been ripped from his body. 

"I’m sorry," he whispers. "I’m so sorry...so sorry..." 

His voice fails him. She sees his lips form the word  _ liebste. _

Jester tries to smile. She's not really sure if she's successful. "It's...it's okay." She swallows and it tastes like blood. Maybe she's bleeding to death? That would be a shitty way to go. "I can...barely feel it." Her lips tremble and a hacking, wet cough leaves her lungs. "You've been...keeping secrets, Caleb.  _ Liebste." _

His lips twitch. "Oh, god, Jester..." 

Somewhere in the distance something thuds or clangs. Wulf, probably, preparing new equipment. 

Caleb swallows hard. "You will see your mother again," he tells Jester, and his breath is coming in great gasps — no, in sobs, he’s sobbing, and yet there’s a smile on his face. His wrist still bound, he turns his hand toward Jester, fingers outstretched like he could somehow reach for her. "I swear it. I  _ swear _ it, Jester, you will see her again." 

"Don't promise me that," she whispers, her chest heaving. "Not unless you're...coming with, okay?" She nods, but it makes the dizziness worse, so she lets her head drop forward, hair covering her face. "Both of us. Please, Caleb."

"Both of us." Caleb strains against his bonds. "Hey. Jester. Swear it. Look at me, and  _ swear it, _ ja?"

Jester forces her head back up. It’s too heavy, filled with pain and discomfort, so she settles it back against the chair. She makes herself smile. "Yeah. Me and you. Gonna...call me  _ liebste." _ Her laugh is weak, but Caleb must hear how hard she’s trying to hide the pain. "This sucks, Caleb.  _ Fuck." _

_ "Du bist es wert, du bist alles wert," _ Caleb mumbles, and she wonders if he’s delirious,  _ "dich gekannt zu haben, mit dir getanzt zu haben..." _

His head sags forward and he stops moving. Blood drips from his mouth where he has bit his tongue. 

The moment the drop falls is the moment the wall explodes.

The force throws Jester and Caleb backwards, their chairs toppling to the floor, but whatever spell Caduceus or Fjord used somehow keeps the shrapnel from making contact with them. The next thing Jester knows, when the ringing in her ears and the numbness in her body have both subsided, is Caleb’s voice in her ear, his arms around her, while someone else’s hands flood her body with healing energy. 

"I’m sorry," Caleb is whispering, cradling her to himself with no care for their nakedness, "I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry..." His mouth presses clumsy kisses to her bare shoulder, leaving blood in their wake. "I’m sorry," he repeats over and over again, and his tears are so soft.

Jester reaches for him, her fingers gentle over his bruised and beaten face. "Can’t heal you," she whispers. She strokes his face, slumping forward in his grasp. "Caleb. It’s okay. It’s..." She curls closer, her body shaking. "Hi Caduceus." 

"Hi Jester," he answers, his voice tight not only with anguish but with a rage she has rarely heard from him. 

The pain slowly washes away as her wounds stitch back together, her bones reforming. In its place exhaustion washes over her and threatens to drown her. 

Caleb’s body is healing too, she can feel it, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Just buries his face in her shoulder and whispers apologies, rocks her back and forth, his breath shuddering, his heart unsteady in his chest. 

Jester feels about ready to pass out when Beau’s voice rings out from somewhere behind her. "We got him."

Caleb’s embrace vanishes.

"Don’t," she croaks, lifting her exhausted head to search for Caleb. "Don’t let him do it." Caleb has seen enough, felt enough torture, he doesn’t need to kill his old friend even if it would bring him joy right now. Jester has woken up to Caleb’s muffled screams too many nights, too often, for her to let him add another nightmare. 

She tries to sit up. "Caduceus," she begs.

It’s too late — Caleb has already ripped his component pouch from Fjord’s hand, wherever Fjord got it from. In a few strides he crosses the room to where Yasha and Beau are supporting a furious, terrified, battered Eodwulf between them. 

"Out of the way," he snarls, before he casts Disintegrate. 

They drop him — the body, that is. Caleb barely pauses. He casts it again, and again, until Eodwulf’s body is dust, and then he empties fireball after fireball into the dust that used to be a body, until there’s nothing left at all. 

His knees give way, and he hits the floor.

Jester slumps forward on her hands, releasing shuddering breaths as she stares at Caleb’s crumpled form. There’s something terribly wonderful about watching Wulf's body vanish and turn to ash beneath the fury of Caleb’s spells, but it’s balanced by the terrible knowledge that Caleb is going to carry this in his heart for the rest of his life. 

"I want to leave," Jester murmurs, sucking in deep breaths.

The last thing she sees is Yasha, stooping to lift Caleb’s unconscious body into her arms.

*

They’re back in Nicodranas. The Lavish Chateau. Warm beds and filling food. Her mother’s gentle hand stroking her hair. The distant cries of seagulls. 

Caleb hasn’t come to see Jester. It’s been a week, and she hasn’t seen him once. 

Jester has kept her silence, waiting for Caleb to take the first step as he processes and heals from their torture. It had been traumatizing and painful, Jester  _ knows, _ because her body still suffers phantom aches, her nights are still filled with screams. She’s still  _ miserable. _

But it's been a  _ week.  _ So now she props herself up at her desk, cracking her knuckles in preparation before casting Sending. "Hi, this is Jester Lavorre, blue, really cute. I don’t know if you  _ remember _ me, it’s been so long since you’ve  _ seen me. _ Anyway so —" 

The spell cuts off and Jester waits.

There’s no response.

She sends another spell. "You know, out of  _ everyone _ I’m the one who went through that with you. Don’t you think we should be  _ talking? _ I know you’re mad —" 

Jester curses as the message cuts off again. Fucking  _ spell. _

This time she hears a reply. 

_ I am not mad. _

Jester’s voice is impossibly soft as she casts Sending again. "I was trying to say mad at  _ yourself. _ Can...can I see you yet? Nobody else knows how to talk about it. I don’t...please?" 

There’s a long pause. 

_ Come to the beach. _

He’s sitting in the sand when she finds him, crosslegged, facing the sea. The wind is teasing his hair back from his face. He doesn’t look at her, though he stirs a little when she arrives, so she knows he hears her.

Jester plops down next to him, sending sand up into the wind. She settles her dress around her legs, propping her chin up on her knees as she stares straight at him. "You’ve been avoiding me," she says in greeting, her voice only a  _ little _ bit accusing. 

"I thought it was best," he murmurs, gazing out at the ocean. "I think...perhaps I should have started avoiding you a long time ago."

She slips her shoes off, wiggling her toes into the soft sand. "But you didn’t," Jester murmurs, keeping her gaze down. "You can’t just...undo it."

"Can’t I?" he mutters under his breath.

She’s silent for a moment. "Do you really want to?" Jester hates the way her voice dips.

Finally he turns and looks at her. Silence stretches out between them, marked by the rhythm of the waves. 

"My — " Caleb swallows hard. "The...way I feel about you...it got you tortured. Nearly to death. I will do whatever it takes to keep that from happening again. I would kill myself if I thought it would keep you safe."

Jester swallows. "That’s not okay. You can’t —" Her breath catches in her throat. "It already happened. That’s...it  _ happened, _ but it doesn’t mean the way you feel is..." She wiggles her toes again. "The way you feel isn’t  _ bad. _ It’s not."

"It has never brought me anything but grief." Caleb turns his gaze back to the sea.

She lets the moment linger, listening to the waves crashing against the shore. Jester hasn’t left the Lavish Chateau in a week, but the minute Caleb had told her where he was she just...needed to be with him. She hadn’t even thought to be scared. 

"What if it brought you something else?" Jester finally murmurs, shifting her gaze back to Caleb. "What if it wasn’t just how...how  _ you _ felt, but like... _ two _ people."

"No," he shakes his head immediately.

Jester pouts, turning to look at the water again. "You didn’t even  _ think _ about it," she grumbles, wrapping her arms around her legs, chin resting on her knees again.

"I have thought about nothing else for a week," he corrects her softly, and she can hear tears in his voice.

She bites at her lip, slowly reaching out for Caleb’s hand. "You haven’t thought about it with  _ me. _ You’re doing that thing where you...think and get all sad, when there’s a perfectly good option right there too." Jester’s cheeks are burning. "A really cool option."

He flinches at her touch, and then sighs, letting her entwine their fingers. "You do not feel the same way," he says to the sand and the waves before them.

Jester rolls her eyes. "What, because I didn’t tell you in the middle of a torture chamber?" The forced lightness fades suddenly as she remembers being chained to that chair, the words she wanted to say burning in her throat, but the fear of harming Caleb too strong. 

He squeezes her hand  _ hard. _ "You do  _ not _ feel the same way," he repeats, his voice gone slightly hoarse, "because if y—if you love me, then I  _ have _ to be with you, and if I am with you — "

Jester leans over and kisses him. It’s a little bit the wrong angle, and a  _ little bit _ sloppy, but she doesn't care: she isn’t going to let him twist himself up over whatever terrible fate he’s decided awaits them if they're together. Jester has seen the worst of the world, and it's only been bearable because  _ he's  _ been there with her.

At the touch of her lips Caleb freezes, until she starts to think maybe he’s never going to move again — and then he’s kissing her back, clumsy and hesitant. It lasts only for a moment before he pulls back and breaks the kiss. 

"Don’t," he whispers, breathless, still just inches from her, "don’t, don’t — don’t —  _ do _ that. Stop that."

Jester inhales shakily. "Why? Why is me  _ wanting _ you so terrible?"

"It’s a target." She can barely hear him, though she feels his breath on her lips. His eyes are still closed. "Every kiss is a target on your back. You cannot spend your life with me. It will be a very short life." 

"There’s already a target on my back. It  _ already _ might be a short life. How many super old adventurers do you know?" 

She leans in, brushing her lips against his once, just  _ once. _ Jester has never been very good at following directions.

"They — " Caleb lets her kiss him, doesn’t let go of her hand. "They will retaliate, for the blow we have dealt them. Next time they will not...they will not  _ idle _ and  _ play. _ They will kill you in front of me."

Jester nuzzles her nose against his, her violet eyes huge, searching his expression for a sign that he’ll let this happen. "They’ll do that  _ anyway. _ You’re  _ not _ going anywhere, and I’m always gonna be near you, even if you decide..." She trails off. 

"You would take that risk?" Caleb whispers, opening his eyes at last. "You would endure that again?" 

He reaches up with his free hand and touches her, just his thumb ghosting over her cheekbone, while something like wonder flushes rosy under his skin. 

"Am I worth that to you?" 

"I love you," she answers in a soft voice. "You were worth it  _ before _ I knew how you felt, and it  _ definitely _ hasn’t changed now. If I'm dying...I'm going out with my mouth on yours." Jester leans into his touch, her shoulders relaxing like he’s sent his own healing magic through his fingertips.

"Oh..." he breathes, and then he kisses her — softly, weak and foolish, his pulse heating and running wild in his veins. If she loves him, he  _ has _ to be with her. He has no choice. He isn’t strong enough.

Jester kisses him back, her fingers tightening around his. "See," she gasps after a moment, her breath ripped from her lungs even after such a gentle kiss. "Told you that thinking alone was a bad idea. You just needed to talk with  _ me." _

Caleb is staring at her as though the world has been transformed. He looks devastated, in the best possible way. 

"Maybe you were right." He takes her face in his hands. "I am starting to think maybe I should do  _ everything _ with you."

"It’s funny you thought anything else was smart," she whispers with a confidence she hardly feels, her whole body  _ trembling. _ Jester didn’t think he would give in, Caleb who is so steadfast in his opinions — 

She flushes hard with pleasure. Except when it comes to her.

The corner of his mouth quirks upward in what could, possibly, be a smile.  _ "Liebste," _ he whispers. Then gently, without another word, he kisses her back into the sand.

fin


End file.
